


There’s No Such Thing as Starting Over

by vega_voices



Category: Murphy Brown (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 20:38:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15178871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vega_voices/pseuds/vega_voices
Summary: He couldn’t know that she hadn’t returned his calls while she was sick because she was terrified she’d beg him to come home and she couldn’t show that side, that need. He couldn’t know that even though she’d finally told Jerry how much she loved him, it was Peter she was in love with and she wanted him to come home.





	There’s No Such Thing as Starting Over

**Title:** There’s No Such Thing as Starting Over  
**Author:** vegawriters  
**Fandom:** Murphy Brown  
**Pairing:** Peter/Murphy  
**Rating:** Mature  
**Timeframe:** Post Series  
**A/N:** So, I respect that the writers made a choice to break Peter and Murphy up. But, given that it was a stupid decision, I’ve elected to ignore it. Kind of. Also, initially this was part of the Come Rain, Come Shine series, but my headcanon has drastically evolved. It's still one of MANY ways these two idiots can get back together. So, pick what works best for you. :)  
**Disclaimer:** You know the drill my fellow fic writers. There isn’t a penny of money made off of this, unless of course, Diane English wants to hire me. But, until that dream of dreams becomes a reality, I just acknowledge that she is god, Candice is a queen, and Scott Bakula has the rare ability to make me enjoy terrible television.

 **Summary:** _He couldn’t know that she hadn’t returned his calls while she was sick because she was terrified she’d beg him to come home and she couldn’t show that side, that need. He couldn’t know that even though she’d finally told Jerry how much she loved him, it was Peter she was in love with and she wanted him to come home._

It had been a long time since Murphy had done a Society of Professional Journalists Conference, but it had felt like a good fit this year. Avery was off to camp, she was getting her strength back, and it was a chance to take a mini vacation (okay, it was LA but whatever) and just relax. She reserved an extra week after the conference at a small condo in Santa Monica so she could enjoy the beach and take that time to herself.

Standing in line to check in at the Downtown Hyatt in LA, Murphy tuned into the conversation behind her - Leslie and Andy from _60 Minutes_ were chatting, making jokes that if any big news stories happened this week, no one would be around to cover them. It was the same joke they’d all been telling for years and somehow, it never got old. She turned and flashed a smile and both of them offered hugs. She hadn’t seen a lot of people since she got sick. Work, kid, and chemo seemed to take all her energy.

“I’m good,” she said to Leslie’s question. “I’m in full remission. I had surgery a couple of months ago. They found a lump that turned out to be a cyst, thankfully.”

“Thank god,” Leslie responded with a smile. “I mean, we do all better when you’re at your fighting best.”

Murphy smiled. “Thank you.”

She turned and stepped to the front desk, handing over her credit card to the clerk. “You’re in room 1802, Ms. Brown. Can I have the bellhop bring your bags?” Of course they could bring her bags. She nodded to the kid in uniform, who coordinated her suitcase for her, and Murphy waved to her colleagues.

“Dinner?” Leslie asked.

She was exhausted from the trip. “How about I join you at breakfast?”

Leslie nodded. Murphy headed to the elevator. Jet lag was catching up to her already.

Alone in her room, she paced. The mini bar had snickers, and the water was only four dollars a bottle. The window revealed a view of LA that she rarely had the chance to take in, and for a moment, she could understand why people actually wanted to live here. The carpet in the room was soft beneath her feet, and the bathroom had a heat lamp, which always made her happy. She got cold very easily since the chemo and she liked being able to stay warm after her showers.

After the bellhop dropped her bag, she crawled onto the bed and caught her breath. She’d been warned that one of the hardest parts of recovery wouldn’t be the immediate impact from the chemo and radiation, but how her body healed over the first year. She’d waved off the warnings; just like with her pregnancy, she could keep going. But now, six months after her last treatment, her energy coming back, she still hit the wall faster than she ever had before. She needed to close her eyes more often - even for just five minutes. Some days, doing her hair took more energy than she really had and now that it was growing out, she needed to spend more time with it. It was getting better, but still, all she wanted to do right now was sleep.

She woke after seven, thirsty, her stomach doing flip flops. Hunger was different since the chemo too, she’d get pangs that bordered on painful, and often took away her appetite. The weed had helped to manage that, and created an environment where she wanted to eat. But without the chemo excuse, it was hard to justify sparking up, and really, it was too much of a risk. So she ate when she could, but unlike when she was pregnant, keeping a full stomach didn’t keep the nausea at bay. Two glasses of water calmed her stomach and she dug a pack of peanut butter crackers out of her bag while glancing through the room service menu. Nothing looked appealing. Even the mini bar snickers weren’t tempting.

Murphy groaned and wandered into the bathroom, dropping her travelling clothes as she went. She’d shower and wash her hair and change her clothes and then maybe she’d feel like eating. The shower became a bath and changing her clothes became slipping into her pj’s. She opened the curtains and let the lights of LA twinkle around her while she settled onto the bed to read. The peanut butter crackers would do for today.

Sleep claimed her early, and she slept, straight through, until her wake up call came.

***

Peter wasn’t sure why he was here in the first place other than it had been two years since his last conference. Since he and Murphy and split up. Two years since he’d walked into her office in the hopes of having dinner and fixing the gulf between them. Two years since she’d looked at him from behind the wall she’d kept up when they first met and said she just really needed to finish the story. Two years since they’d broken each other’s hearts. How did you just walk away from someone you loved so much? But her walls had been up and he knew better than to fight it. So he’d walked away, and regretted every minute of it. He’d come to the conference after, justifying the time in the States, and then asked for overseas assignments that wouldn’t give him the option of mooning over the woman he loved.

And, like with all breakups, he built a wall around the part of his heart that was broken and focused on work and the occasional hook up. He’d won a Humboldt, been courted by CNN and MSNBC, and even spent six months making love to a journalist from Al Jazeera. Moving on was the easy part. At least until the word had gone out that she had cancer and he’d spent a year battling with the part of him that loved her with the part of him that knew she’d need to do this herself and that if he went racing back, she’d shove him off his white horse and never speak to him again. Pride was, in the end, the deadliest of her sins. He’d written a couple of letters, called a couple of times. Her responses had been tender, but platonic and whenever he called, he only left messages. Each time he’d sworn he’d tell her the truth, that he was still in love with her and wanted to try again and each time he chickened out. Eventually, he told himself, he’d move on. It was okay to still love her - she still loved Jake for god’s sake - and they didn’t have to be together.

And then, there she was.

He hadn’t seen her at first. He’d been flirting with a raven haired journalist from CNN and plotting out how exactly to work the fling that was already unfolding in his mind. But he turned his head at just the right moment to see her step up to the check in counter, and literally everything in his mind that didn’t have to do with her stopped functioning.

She looked tired. It was a tell that only those who had rubbed her shoulders at the end of a long day would know. But her back was stiff, her head was tilted just to the side. She was fighting a headache. Her travel clothes were just a tad rumpled, which said more than almost anything else. Murphy Brown was many things, and impeccable in public was one of them.

He watched her hand the bags off to the bellhop and walk to the elevator and all Peter wanted to do was chase after her. His raven haired friend walked away.

Peter’s eyes trailed Murphy to the elevator and he watched her get in and watched the numbers light up above the door. The hotel was open in the middle, so his eyes tracked each person as the elevator stopped, until on the 18th floor, he could see someone in her outfit emerge and walk down the hall to the right.

Okay. That was a start.

Yeah, this wasn’t creepy at all.

Suddenly alone now that his CNN friend had moved on to more attentive options, Peter battled with his need to figure out where Murphy was and the reality that they’d more than likely run into each other over the next couple of days. They were both investigative journalists. They’d be in a couple of the same sessions. He needed to be patient. But she was here. She was here.

Peter opted to linger.

He joined Anderson for dinner in the lobby restaurant and hung out in the bar until ten before he realized she wasn’t emerging. He wanted to go knock on doors on the 18th floor. Instead, he charged the three beers to his room and headed upstairs. He’d been patient this long, after all.

***

Murphy woke hungry but refreshed. Tea took the edge off and she and took her time in the shower and getting dressed. By the time she needed to get down to check in before breakfast, she’d put on her makeup, settled on a comfortable but professional outfit, and even tamed her hair into something sensible. She turned on CNN while gathering her bag and finally, she felt like she could handle the day. Especially since the speaker over lunch held no interest for her so she could take some time for herself. Travel took so much out of her anymore.

The elevator was full of journalists heading down to the banquet floor. Everyone laughed and greeted each other like they didn’t see each other at the press clubs or even passing in the halls. Privately, Murphy loved the quiet feeling of camaraderie that did exist. They all lived in a world that so many people couldn’t understand. Still, the need to keep telling her colleagues that she was fine, really, was exhausting. She was tempted to just add that to her name badge.

Ten journalists exited in a cloud of laughter, but Murphy’s attention was caught not by the registration table but instead her eyes landed on a familiar, denim-clad figure. His hair was shorter. A bit grayer. But he was still tan and she could tell under the t-shirt that he was firm as ever.

Shit.

The way his eyes met hers she knew he’d been waiting, hoping she was here. He’d known she was here first. How? Had he seen her in the lobby? Gotten ahold of the roster?

This couldn’t be happening.

She couldn’t face him. He couldn’t know that she kept his letters in her reporter’s notebook, holding them close because she hadn’t forgiven herself for letting him walk out the door. He couldn’t know that she hadn’t returned his calls while she was sick because she was terrified she’d beg him to come home and she couldn’t show that side, that need. He couldn’t know that even though she’d finally told Jerry how much she loved him, it was Peter she was in love with and she wanted him to come home.

He couldn’t know any of this, so of course her feet were moving of their own accord and there he was, in front of her, and she didn’t resist when his arms reached out and enveloped her. She stood there, clinging to him, letting the hug linger.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey yourself,” she whispered right back.

They looked at each other in at the same time and when his lips found hers, she didn’t pull away. It wasn’t a long kiss, wasn’t anything passionate or out of place, but it kept them together a moment longer. Finally, she stepped back, but couldn’t let go of his hand.

“You look great,” she said, suddenly avoiding his eyes.

“So do you …”

The tone of his voice made her look back and she wished she hadn’t. This wasn’t fair to either of them. He was established elsewhere and she’d heard rumors about a journalist from Al Jazeera. Still. He wasn’t letting go of her hand and she couldn’t disentangle their fingers and part of her just wanted to skip the whole day and go make love to him. It had been so long since she’d felt desirable and here he was, staring at her in that way he’d always had.

“I’m bony and my hair is all thin,” she argued with him.

“Murphy.” He touched her cheek. “You look great.”

The blush crossed her face and she stepped back. “We, uh, should go get signed in.”

He only nodded and she couldn't let go of his hand. He didn’t seem to mind.

***

Okay, so there was one thing he needed to get out of his system before they could talk, and luckily she seemed to agree.

They’d shared a breakfast table with Leslie Stahl, laughed and kept up the small talk, and whenever his hand moved to her thigh under the table, Murphy had only encouraged him and halfway through the opening speaker, his hand had been between her thighs. The first sessions had pulled them apart, but he walked her to hers like they were in high school, and he’d kissed her before slipping into his own.

“What’s your next one?” She asked, meeting him at the door after his was over.

“Something that’s being repeated tomorrow,” was his reply, understanding her meaning. They had this, and then lunch, and it was plenty of time. He linked their fingers and tugged her toward the elevator, not caring a single wink if anyone saw them. Inside the elevator, he pressed her back against the wall, making love to her with his mouth, and she molded her body against his, returning the favor. His boss could have boarded the elevator and he wouldn’t have noticed.

His hotel room was closer and they barely made it through the door. She dropped her bag on the floor, his joined hers, and they tugged at clothes and stumbled to the still unmade bed. Only last minute logic pulled him back so he could hang the do not disturb sign out front. By the time he came back to her though, he could tell she was nervous. Her hand was over her breast, and she’d pulled her blouse semi-closed.

“I’ve … it’s different now, Peter.”

He took a breath and knelt between her knees, looking up at her. “Hey,” he said, gently taking her hand. “Hey, is this why you wouldn’t call me back? Murphy, you know I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

She only shook her head. “That’s not it, Peter. I just …”

Gently, he pulled her hand away and pushed the blouse off her shoulder. The scars were small, but obvious, and he brushed his thumb over them, sliding her bra strap down as he did. “I should have been here,” he said. “And I’m not going to get into the muck right now. But I should have come back and I’m sorry. But you survived this, Murphy. And that only makes this … I don’t know … makes you more beautiful to me.”

“Stop.” She shook her head. “I’m a disaster.”

Peter met her eyes. “If you want to stop, we’ll stop. But a few scars don’t change how I feel about you or your body.”

She caught her breath. “Put your hands on me.”

He did, leaning forward, taking both breasts into his hands, stroking them through the thin fabric. One nipple pointed quickly to attention, the other took its time, the nerves responding much more slowly. Peter took his time, slowly rising off his knees to nudge her back onto the bed, stopping only to unhook her bra and pull the fabric free.

After the elevator, he’d expected this to go fast. A rush to climax that would get the sexual tension out of the way. Instead, he spent an hour relishing her body, knowing she needed to feel treasured again. By the time he slid into her, her legs hooking up around his hips, they were both past ready and he was sure he wouldn’t last long. She arched up against him, her nails in his back, and somehow he held on long enough to feel her body start to tremble. Finally he let himself go, groaning her name amidst a string of expletives.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he murmured into her neck as they caught their breath. “Please let’s fix this.” He couldn’t let her go. Couldn’t pull out. Couldn’t do anything other than hold her against him. “Please, Murphy.”

She couldn’t stop the sob, but he gave her points for trying. “One thing at a time, Peter …” she sniffed, clutching him even closer, her leg back around him, keeping him right where he was. He kissed her, slowly, deeply, keeping her wrapped in his arms, and when she didn’t pull away, he rolled them so she could settle on top. Finally she sat up and he rested his hands on her hips, stabilizing her. Her eyes were red and she wiped away a lingering tear. “I didn’t mean to start crying,” she said. “I feel like an idiot.”

“You’re crying over me,” he teased. “I’ll take it.”

“Do you really want to try this again?”

He stared at her, knowing exactly why she was asking this now. Here. Fully naked. She was never one for subtlety.

“Yes,” he said. “I don’t know how to make it all work, but I miss you and I think us splitting up was really dumb.”

That brought a smile to her face. “Yeah, it was.”

“We let a bunch of pressures get to us that we knew we could handle,” Peter said. “And we could have figured it out. We both got cold feet.”

“Frostbitten,” she murmured. “God.” She slipped down, disentangling their bodies, and stretched out next to him. “I can’t tell you how many letters I wrote that I didn’t send.”

“Me too.” He trailed his fingertips up and down her arm.

“Avery misses you,” she said quietly. “I mean, really. You’re the only father he’s ever known and I think part of him blames me for pushing you away.”

“He’s still my son, Murphy.”

She was silent. “I should have … he needed you while I was sick.”

“It’s okay.” Peter took a breath. “I mean, we need to talk. But I think rehashing all the crap at once is also going to just make it harder.”

“That’s fair.”

“So. One guilt ridden conversation at a time, okay? We can’t just pick up, and we can’t start over. So, let’s just figure it out. One day at a time. All I know is that I’m not breaking up with you again.”

She laughed at that. “Okay.”

Peter glanced at the clock. Lunch was only beginning. “We’ve got another hour,” he said, looking down into her eyes.

“I’m staying an extra week,” she said, her voice hesitant. “A condo in Santa Monica …”

He didn’t even hesitate. A week with Murphy sounded like heaven. “I’ll call my producer today. Tell him I’m taking time off.”

“Really?”

“I’m serious about us, Murphy. Let’s use this time to figure things out.”

She took another deep breath and then leaned up for a kiss. “You up for more?” She teased, her hand sliding down his body.

“Are you?” He watched her hand trail through his chest hair and wander down his abdomen until she was stroking him. Rational thought was starting to be hard to navigate.

“Shut up and kiss me.” She ordered.

Peter gladly obliged.


End file.
